


rabbit hunt in Paris

by Just_Julia



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Art History, Horror, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:27:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22763971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_Julia/pseuds/Just_Julia
Summary: The villagers open the chambers, they are hunting the king.Is he hiding, is he eating honey? He is very clever.He is old, old, old, he must live another year, and He knows it.I don't know what part of this story is more self-indulgent, the vampires or the fact that it's pure art-history porn
Relationships: England/France (Hetalia), England/North Italy (Hetalia)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17





	1. Saint Germain-en-Laye

Professor Whitehill used the built-in speaker microphone of the bus to speak to the group of twenty students as they left the periferique outside of Paris to stop in the smaller town of Saint-Germain-en-Laye. 

"All right everybody if you take out your programs, you'll see that before we go into Paris, we'll visit the museé nationale de Archeologique." His English accent was thick in his French pronunciation but it didn't seem to bother him in the slightest and didn't keep him from orating his story to the travel-weary students.

"The museum is situated in an amazing historical palace, every bit as worth the visit as the museum itself. While the French kings have lived here since the 12th century the current edifice was built by Francis the first in renaissance style." 

As the man was talking the castle appeared through the windshield and was every bit worthy of the praise it was receiving.

"After the revolution, it was of course in the hands of the state and later in those of Napoleon III. For some reason, he never took residence there but instead housed all France's archaeological treasures there! For which we are of course are grateful today because otherwise there wouldn't be such a magnificent collection there. Though if it had been me, I'd make this my palace!" A couple of students chuckled at the joke and the bus made to park on the large gravel parking lot.

Arthur had been meditatively looking out of the bus window for the long trip from London to Paris and had found the exact battery life on his Walkman. He’d brought only three mixtapes because they had to pack light, but they contained the essentials: Pink Floyd, the clash, the sex pistols… Once his professor shook him out of his trance with the static noise of the speakers, he put them away and gave the man his full attention. 

The bus parked on the gravel and gradually the group of students spilt onto the parking lot and wandered about a bit, studying the building as professor Whitehall was going to take care of admissions.  
Arthur produced his polaroid camera from his backpack and tried to get a good shot from the looming structure without the stark French sunlight rendering it to a mere black silhouette. He figured he might try again later that day when the sun wasn’t so high in the sky.  
After a lot of fiddling around with signed papers that announced the coming of the group at the ticket desk, they were led through the museum.  
"Because to Napoleon this was part of a nationalist agenda, you'll only find artefacts here that were found on French soil. Also, we are in luck today." Professor Whitehill hopped up and down on his toes slightly and pressed his fingertips together a gesture he always made when he had exciting news for the class. 

"We can have guided access to the room containing the collection of Édouard Piette. These are extremely precious finds ranging from the stone age to the early bronze age. These artefacts don't take to sunlight well so they're kept in a separate room that is usually not accessible for the public. But! Because you are future art historians we can visit with a guide. You see! Your future profession literally opens closed doors." 

The room containing the collection of Piette was small and windowless and the special lamps that didn't harm the artefacts cast it in dim light. Around the keyhole there was a cast-iron decoration of the letter F. Strange enough, in the back of the room, there was another door. With a similar lock. The room didn't seem to tie in with the rest of the building’s blueprint and a draft ran from underneath it.

Arthur, like the rest of the group, fell slightly silent in awe of the objects in front of them. The two cases closest to the wall contained mostly bone needles and flint axes. The sheer age of them was so mind-blowing it almost became abstract. But as the group progressed into the room, the objects started to show carvings: Humans, lions, horses. Until his eyes fell on the thighbone of a horse, in it were carved a foal, an adult horse, and a horse skull in a circle. His breath hitched. A circle of life carved into the bone of the very animal whose life it showed. This was conceptual, philosophic! This was art! To think such a sophisticated piece was made by a society that was by most people seen as crude and primitive made his blood rush to his cheeks. 

Suddenly he felt like someone was watching him. He turned around to see if one of his classmates was behind him and trying to see into the display as well, but there was no one there. Only that door. Perhaps it was the strange semi-darkness of the room or being surrounded with the evocative pieces but that door suddenly filled him with a strange type of dread. The type of dread you feel in a dream when you know you shouldn’t go somewhere but you know you’re going to because the dream is in charge, not you. In dreams, he always felt like those kinds of locations were dangerous, yet important, significant in some way. 

He was snapped out of his reverie by the professor exclaiming loudly "Oh look! I didn't know this object was here! This is called the lady of Brassempuoy a la capuche because people thought it looks like she wears a little cap on her head but my thesis is that it is far more likely that it is stylized hair as one would find on the Greek Kouros. Come look, it also makes place for interesting debates concerning a great mother cult." The whole class grouped around the glass case chattering excitedly. Arthur, however, kept glancing over his shoulder at the door. It was nearing 6 in the evening and the sun was setting outside. The museum was about to close so the guide started to usher the group out of the room. Arthur was at the far back of the group, did he hear something scuffling, no, dragging in the room behind the door? He wasn’t certain over the noise of the students leaving.

Suddenly a loud noise came from behind the door, the wood of which actually creaked dangerously. Both Arthur and the museum guide, the last ones to exit the room jumped at the loud sound.  
“What is in that room?” Arthur was bold enough to ask the guide, mostly because he was so extremely startled. She equally breathless assured him with a French accent that had gotten thicker due to the shock “Nothing, it’s an empty room. It must’ve been a draft, it’s a very old building they make a lot of noise sometimes.” Still, she was locking the door as if she was scared of something following them out of there. 

by the time they came back outside, it was dark out and people were sitting on the square near the castle chatting and eating food. Feliciano sat next to Arthur and offered him some biscotti from a large paper bag. 

"Arthur! You have a Camera with you! Can I take a picture with it? I want to draw the castle when we get back but I forgot mine- I'll need a reference! I'm trying to remember all the details but they make my head spin!" He looked at Arthur with big puppy eyes.

Arthur rose a thick eyebrow at Feliciano. “Isn’t it too dark to capture it now?” He looked at the castle for a bit and it was lit out by some big floodlights. “Though… perhaps it’ll work if you use the light coming from those?” slightly reluctantly He handed his classmate his camera. "Be careful with it." He gave Feliciano a wary look, he knew the other to be a bit of a spaz from time to time. Arthur looked up at the castle… It was absolutely beautiful, the gothic chapel windows glimmering with the last twilight… still, he felt uneasy. He wondered if this was what his favourite Romantic poets meant with the sublime? He’d read about it but he’d never before experienced it like this, to be so fundamentally unsettled by something beautiful. 

Feliciano pointed the Camera at the dark shape of the castle and snapped a picture. He shook it and waited for it to develop. He looked at it and frowned, then looked back at the castle, and back to his picture again. He rose the camera to his eye again and snapped a second one. "Ah much better!" 

He gave the first shot to Arthur. "I'm so sorry, there's a strange shape on this one, I think it's a bird or something? But it obstructed the chapel window." He pointed at the photo where a strange black husking shape was perched on the roof. "It's still a pretty one, do you want that one?" He put the good picture in his front shirt pocket and handed Arthur the camera back. "I promise not to leech of your photo's too much! I know film is expensive!" Something in his tone said he would, in fact, be begging for photo's the entire trip.  
Arthur looked up at the castle and back down at the photo. "Strange." Whatever it was it was gone now. The bus departed and took them to the capital but the dark windows of the castle felt like eyes burning into Arthur’s back.


	2. Chapter two

The bus dropped the group of students off at a large parking lot by the side of the périphérique. From there they needed to take the metro to the university arrondissement where they'd be housed for their stay. The group was tarrying in the parking lot with a lethargic energy until the professor once more drew his flock of sheep together and instructed them: “students listen! You'll be in shared bedrooms so please make groups of two. When you have found a partner come pick up a key with me. We're an uneven number though, so, we'll either end up with a room of three or someone is sleeping alone.”

What Arthur saw take place in front of his eyes made him relive a hundred memories of gym class and group assignments that he honestly hadn’t thought would follow him from high school to university. His eyes desperately darted through the group made him realise that he wasn’t sufficiently friends with any of them to ask them to room with him.

He took an unsure step in the direction of Feliciano but then realised that he and his twin brother just walked back from the professor with their keys to get their luggage. Oh, well then perhaps then they could room with the three of them? Still, he didn’t really know Feliciano’s brother that well, what if they didn’t get along or the boy would be annoyed with him crowding up the room. He was thinking of ways to open the sentence to ask the two if he could join them but when they walked past him, excitedly chatting he couldn’t find any words and just stood there like a pillar of salt. The nightmare reached its completion and Arthur was the only one still awkwardly standing there, looking for a partner. Professor Whitehill handed him the keys to the solo room with a look that was slightly too sympathetic for Arthur’s liking.

In the hostel, Feliciano saw Arthur opening the door to his solitary confinement and pouted. Arthur cursed under his breath, had he really looked that pathetic?

"Arthur! I'm so sorry about the room!" the boy darted over and pressed Arthurs hand in apology.

"I would’ve asked you to join me and Lore, but we have a pact. You see, I know you need your rest and peace and quiet and everything, since you’re always complaining about that in lectures and let's just say that me I don't have intentions of sleeping very much. Now that we're finally out of the house, and you know how our family can get.”

Overwhelmingly catholic that is. Feliciano probably didn’t have much chance to date when he lived at home.

“And since Lovino will keep the secret if I come back late or not at all I can finally- you know?” Feliciano made a slightly lewd gesture to signal his intentions. "I didn't think you'd appreciate me coming in late or bringing someone back to the room." The sly smile he gave Arthur was very telling. Feliciano was a gifted student but also notoriously promiscuous.

Arthur was a bit baffled at the sheer amount of information he was receiving as Feliciano cheerfully kept oversharing. “Well then…” He said when Feliciano finally slowed down. How does one respond to something like that? “Thank you for being mindful of me then. I indeed need my rest.” He seemed a little stiff and wasn’t meeting Feliciano’s eyes because the other had just unblinkingly told him of his intentions to fuck as much as he could on this trip. “So, you’re not mad at me?” Feliciano now asked more directly for the affirmation he needed. “Uh. No, I’m not mad.” Arthur really wanted this conversation to end. “Ok good! See you at breakfast!” his ‘friend’ finally turned on his heels and retreated into his room.

When Arthur sat down in his empty room he let the silence wash over him for a moment. The entire day he’d heard the humming of the bus, his music, the chatter of the students, but now it was quiet. The contrast of the transition into silence wrapped around him like a heavy blanket and made his skin tingle. He was quite exhausted. He knew some of the students were going down to the hotel bar for one last drink but decided at that moment he wouldn’t join them. The next day they were expected to be at the Louvre at 8 in the morning to avoid waiting in line and he knew the morning would be tough enough without the adverse effects of alcohol.

Instead he decided to prepare for the next day, he kicked off his shoes and put on a soft sweater before holing up in bed with the collections catalogue of the louvre. They’d have student presentations in the antiquities department and then have an hour and a half of free time to explore the museum before the presentations were graded over lunch in the Tuileries. There were a couple of artworks he wanted to see in there, perhaps he could map out his route…

After a few pages the silence lost its comforting heaviness and Arthur’s concentration started slipping. His heart started beating faster and he felt restless though he didn’t understand why. He paced the room for a bit and decided to repack his backpack for tomorrow, just to have something to do. His little room suddenly felt like a prison cell, he was in solitary confinement. He opened the window, and stared at the courtyard four floors below him and was hit with an involuntary thought ‘not a prison, a trap.’ A snare, the hunter was approaching and there was nowhere he could go.

What was going on with him? This behaviour was ridiculous. He decided to finish his backpack and then go downstairs to the café for a tea for his nerves, of perhaps something stronger, after all. Being around others might normalise his thoughts a bit. He removed the polaroid of the palace and stared at it. His eyes locked on that dark hulking shape in front of the stained-glass window. All efforts at calming himself down disappeared, the more he stared at what he saw in the small square of the picture, trying to make out any features, the louder his heartbeat rang in his ears.

He thought about the hunter again, he could feel it drawing closer. He should’ve fled when he had the chance. Even the window and the four-story drop now seemed like a preferable option to staying here. It was in the stairwell now. Did he still have time to go into the hallway and knock on Feliciano’s door? But what was he to say to him, what was his excuse, that he was having a paranoid schizophrenic episode? Because that was the only rational explanation for what was happening to him. It was at his door now. He didn’t know how he knew but he knew. Still, he was convinced it was a delusion so when there was a sharp knock at the door he nearly screamed.

“Feliciano, is that you?” he asked with a quivering voice, despite already knowing the answer. He walked over and opened the door to a small crack. His rational-self managed to convince his instincts that there was no reason not to open the door. Perhaps it was something important about the trip. When he looked outside the door, he wasn’t surprised at what he saw, his entire subconsciousness had been warning him.

Outside the door it wasn't Feliciano waiting. There stood the tall figure of a man, perfectly still. Entirely too still and statuesque to seem natural. The only thing in the man indicating life, was a spark of fire in his razor-sharp blue eyes. They stood out all the more because of how unremarkable the rest of his appearance was. His long blonde hair was pulled back into a lose pony tail and he was dressed in a timeless manner: an opened navy-blue coat jacket over a light cream coloured sweater, made appropriate for casual wear by being paired with a pair of black jeans. He was impeccably stylish and there was nothing about him that could justify the intense sense of ‘wrongness’ Arthur felt when faced with this ‘man’. (was it a man?)

The man smiled without parting his lips and shook his head, his curls dancing around his face. "Excusez-moi _._ Je me suis trompé de porte..." His voice was low and slightly nasal yet clear and articulate. The casual remark wasn’t what Arthur had expected, yet those eyes kept his own hostage.

There was a moment’s pause when the stranger seemed to deduce that Arthur wasn't a French speaker and repeated "Wrong room..." in English this time. His expression, however, wasn't that of a person who was lost, his expression was that of someone who had found exactly that what he was looking for. With an effortless turn, the man turned on his heels, casually sauntered down the hallway and disappeared into the flight of stairs.

Arthur hadn’t spoken a word for their entire interaction, but as the man’s back retreated, he could slowly feel the creeping fear diminish, fade away and get smaller like a car on a hilly road. Rationally there had been nothing about the situation he could point out to be actually wrong or dangerous, just someone who had knocked on the wrong door, right? All hi instincts, however, told him he’d just narrowly escaped a terrible fate and his sleep was light and uneasy.


	3. Chapter three

  
The next day the group of students assembled at the entrance of the Louvre, Arthur was lethargically munching on a croissant he’d gotten on the go on the way there. Most of the others had eaten in the hotel but after last night he’d been slow to get up. and started their museum visit. The sheer size of the building and its collection blew Arthur’s mind, over seven kilometres of masterpieces. There were so many he wanted to see. Thankfully the whole morning program had been dedicated to visiting the louvre and they'd be making returns there later in their stay. 

It was rapidly getting warmer on the large inner courtyard as the French summer sun climbed in the sky and Arthur was grateful when they entered the cool almost cavernous space of the museum. They started with Greek and Roman antiquity. There were some student presentations, everyone had chosen an artwork prior to this trip and now they had to present their research in situ. Arthur was grateful his presentation wasn’t up for a couple more days, he wasn’t in his best shape today. In fact, between the night of getting too little sleep, and the heat that did in the end also creep into the museum it was hard to keep his eyes open during the presentations sometimes. 

In between presentations, he joined with Ludwig who was playing the ‘Janson’s game’. Janson’s History of Art was the absolutely massive and heavy book they had to study in the introductory courses in their first year it weighed five kilograms and Ludwig, like an absolute madman, had brought it along in his backpack. Arthur eyed Ludwig being as enthusiastic as a baby 'Winckelmann' in the classics section ‘so that’s how he’s muscular yet studious’ he mused ‘he carries that damn book around everywhere’. Ludwig had also brought a pack of those small, round, orange stickers used in offices and was putting them next to artworks he had now seen in person. Dorky as it was, it was like an art-historical easter egg hunt and Arthur was having quite a bit of fun with it, excitedly calling Ludwig when he found the next one that they’d been looking for. 

After having spent quite some time admiring the collection of ancient art, however, the professor announced yet another special activity. Arthur was amongst the first to crowd around professor Whitehill to hear what was going to happen. Whitehill excitedly hopped on his those again and announced they'd be making a visit to archaeological excavations taking place below the museum at that very moment. The official museum entrance was being modernized with a subterranean entrance, but that meant the older foundations of the palace would be accessible. 

They made their way to the construction site and spoke with the foreman. Arthur’s heart beat fast as the group was led down a new modern staircase, and after that, a temporary steel ladder deeper and deeper into the ground. In the space below the castle, a round structure was lit by construction lamps and all around it an archaeological trench was dug with elevated wooden scaffolding to walk on. The group had to spread out in a long line to stand on it and watch the excavation from above. They were joined by the lead archaeologist who gave them a brief tour of the archaeological site and later, in a room with a bit more space explained what they had just seen:  
"The louvre as we know it today hasn’t always existed. Before the work was started on the current palace, with its many additions, there used to be a medieval castle on this site. The round shape you've just seen was the Donjon, the central defensive structure that was archetypical for French medieval castles. The medieval louvre is still visible in the wonderful miniatures by the brothers Limbourgh for the très riches Heures du Duc de Berry and look at... I think it’s the month of October, you can still see the old castle in the background. However, the old castle was abolished in favour of a new renaissance fashion.   
I understand you all visited Saint-Germain-en-Laye yesterday and heard a similar story? If you connected the two then you are correct! This palace was erected by the same king: Francis the first. Very much inspired by his Italian renaissance education he invested a lot in grandiose building projects, was a man of letters and an important patron of the arts. In fact, he laid the foundations of the French royal collection of art which is still housed in this museum today. It's thanks to him we'll be able to see the Mona Lisa here today. He was a man of letters and Castiglione mentioned him as the man who brought culture to the war-obsessed nation of France."

Francis the first seemed to be an unavoidable figure if you studied art in Paris Arthur thought to himself. He smiled to himself. He should’ve thanked the guy for having good taste if he could breach the centuries that separated them. 

Professor Whitehill thanked the lead archaeologist and collected his group of students for further instructions:

"Very well, you now have two hours in which you're free to walk through the museum yourselves or have a little break and we'll gather at the entrance again at three, please try to be on time though I know it's easy to get overwhelmed in here! Ok of you go!"

Arthur slowly strolled through the museum. He was mentally playing the ‘Janson’s game’ because he was sane enough not to lodge the heavy book around. He’d left the rest who were all still in the Italian renaissance wing because he really wanted to find the nineteenth-century paintings. He loved the romantic aesthetic and refused to leave this place without having seen the raft of the medusa in person. The hall where they were proved harder to find than he’d initially expected though…

After some wandering Arthur seemed to have reached the second floor of the Richelieu wing, the collection there was dedicated to the great painters of France. It wasn’t where he wanted to be but the paintings weren’t any less amazing. He was walking through it backwards it seemed, starting with the more recent paintings and walking back in time. He stared at his map and realised he wasn’t even on the right floor for the romantics and this seemed to be the way to the nearest staircase. He was only sporadically glancing at the paintings. Portraiture could be a bit dull when you don’t know who the people are, and many of these paintings were anonymous French nobles. Then suddenly he stopped dead in his tracks. There was a familiar set of intense blue eyes staring at him.

Not from a person, one of the other visitors who were quietly shuffling by. No, this time they were not looking at him from the hallway of a poorly lit hotel, but from the cracked oil painting on a medium-sized oak panel portrait on the wall. Impossible. With bated breath, he approached the painting, suddenly feeling that strange rush again he’d felt in the locked room in the museum at Saint-Germain-en-Laye.  
  
No, it’s not him. Thankfully, of course, it’s not him. Arthur let out a breath he’d been subconsciously holding. The painting didn't immediately resemble the stranger from the hotel, this man’s hair was darker, and the face had that strange waxy texture that northern renaissance paintings so typically have. The man had a full beard the stranger didn't have, and while the mysterious figure had an impressive nose it was nowhere near the one the man in the portrait was sporting... in fact, the only thing that might make one wonder if it was the same person were those eyes, that same smouldering blue fire seemed to reside in them. That and the preternatural stillness of a face artificially frozen in time. What was happening to him? He was having a paranoid delusion he was certain of it! 

His eyes glanced down at the plaque. Eyes widening slightly. The sheer serendipity and coincidence of whom's portrait he was looking at launched him right back into the strange paranoia. It was like little strands were woven all through this trip, a web he could get stuck in. Francois le premier, roi de France. “Well, if you speak of the devil, he shall appear.” He mumbled to himself and stared back defiantly at the painting. "Oh... I suppose it is you I should thank for this fine culture." He laughed softly to himself. Francis... lord it's like this country was named for you. 

He slowly raised his camera and checked to see if there was a guard around, flash photography wasn’t permitted after all. Seeing that he was alone, he broke the rules and snapped a photograph of the painting. His heart raced as the polaroid rolled out of the camera. He wasn’t certain why he’d felt compelled to take that risk for a painting he didn’t even particularly like. When he looked at the photograph, he was relieved to see it was just that: a polaroid picture of a painting. Nothing strange. Had he expected something strange? Had he expected to see a black hulking figure? Suddenly he felt like he had overstayed his welcome in the presence of the painting. He hurried out of the hallway, telling himself it was because he only had half an hour left to look at the romantic paintings. 


End file.
